


With scarves of red tied round their throats

by Fizzingwizzbees14



Series: Yeah, baby (A Collection of Bi!Carl Stories) [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bi!Carl, Bisexual Carl Gallagher, Carl and ninja stars, F/M, Gen, I mean, Is carl in a polyamory i think so, M/M, Mentions of Harry Potter, Mentions of Sex, No Smut, Swearing, emily enjoys writing about teenage boys who don't freak out abut being queer, emily got bored of waiting for more bi carl so she wrote some herself, i will write something better later i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:13:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3914224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fizzingwizzbees14/pseuds/Fizzingwizzbees14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>some things move on without you, even if you were a part of it to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With scarves of red tied round their throats

His name was Marquez, and he was Portuguese. He had curly, chestnut hair and eyes the exact colour of blueberries, and he was fucking Carl Gallagher in the cold spray of one of the juvie’s showers. They’d caught it just at the right time- they were the only two people in there, not that anyone would give them grief for it- every third boy was fucking one another, no one gave a shit.

 

When they were done, Marquez dug a pack of cigarettes out of his trouser pocket and handed one to Carl, “You know, you’d have some good muscles if you ever actually trained.”

 

            “That a compliment, Gomes?” he asked, flashing him his best smart-ass smile he’d learnt from Ian, “Maybe if I got some good muscles I could do the fucking, huh?” Marquez tipped his dark head back and laughed, the tendons in his neck jumping with the action. Carl finished his cigarette first, threw it down the drain, and stood up. Marquez looked up at him from where he was crouched against the wall. He had a skinny, sad face, and stubby fingered hands. He was lovely- golden brown skin and glittering eyes buried too deep in their sockets. He looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of _The Iliad,_ to be honest, but maybe that was Carl’s type- though he did usually go for blonde’s, now that he thought about it. Marquez stands brushes his hair back from his forehead. He’s taller than Carl, by five inches at least, and Carl likes the way he feels small and big at once, like he’s completely at the other boy’s mercy and yet still somehow in charge. He laughs in Marquez’s face and walks out of the showers.

 

 

He does start training after that, more out of boredom than anything else. He grows four inches, putting him at 5’8”, putting him two inches smaller than Ian and one taller than Lip. He bulks up, not enough to look _big_ exactly, but nice, in a small, subtle way, like how someone grows their hair out and you don’t notice until they get it cut.

 

Fiona and Lip come and see him at the end of September, and a Thursday, and the first thing Fiona says is, _Wow, look how tall you are!_

            “Necessity,” he said, trying to lighten the mood that had been darkened by the fact that Ian wasn’t there, “Everybody here was bigger than me, so I thought I’d fuck them up.” He smiles at Fiona, “It’s good to see you.” They don’t comment on how much deeper his voice is, though Lip looked a little sad. Probably cause he never got to tease him about it breaking.

 

            “Are you okay?” Fiona asks, “Do you need anything? Money, clothes?”

 

            “Nah,” he said, “Got a group a guys who like me. I’m fine,” he swallows, “It’s only nine months- and hey, like five now, right? I won’t get any extra time, they might let me out for good behavior,” he tries to smile reassuringly. Marquez was talking to someone that Carl assumed was his sister, ( _‘Her name is Trinity’,_ he’d said a couple days before), “What’s been going on? Debbie okay?”

 

Fiona and Lip look at each other- they’re four years apart but Carl could swear they were meant to be twins, “She’s going through a- a rough time, right now. She might not visit for a little while.” Lip says, hands fidgeting.

 

            “What?” he asks, “What is it? Is it her boyfriend- is he hitting her? I told him if he did I’d rip his fuckin lungs out-“

 

            “It’s not that,” Fiona cuts in, “She had to have an abortion, Carl.”

 

            Carl sags, “Oh,” he tries to take in a deep breath, “Is she okay?”

 

            Fiona makes a face, “Getting better.” Carl nods.

 

            “And Ian?” to late to turn back now, he supposes.

 

            Lip nods, “He’s okay. Still not on meds, but he’s been pretty stable for a while.” He swallows. Marquez’s sister gets up to leave. Marquez smiles at him when walking past to the door, brushes the back of the chair.

 

Carl can’t take anymore bad news, but he asks, “Mickey still dealing with things okay?”

 

            “Ian and Mickey broke up,” Lip says, “For the best, I don’t think he could’ve taken much more, to be honest.”

 

Carl gets up and walks away without saying anything.

 

                                               ################################################################

 

He doesn’t just fuck Marquez- when he found out Marquez had jerked Indra Santoso off after lights out, he went looking for somebody else, and ran across Gijsbert Verplancke and Roger Cooper and Se Yoon Tongbang- he fucked his way through half of juvie, fucked boys five years older than him, and boys two years younger than him, and fucked James Hurst, the one who was working for G-Dog too, and who’s hands shook for the first three months because of withdrawal, and who became very quickly his best friend. He only fucked James because he could, though he liked his dark eyes (like black coffee), and the dyed blue hair. They stayed best friends, even after they’d fucked and blown one another and jerked each other off.

 

It was nine months- nine months in which Ian visited twice, once depressed, hands shaking, once manic, laughing to hard and too loudly, and Debbie came three times- each time she looked a little happier, more like her old self- she teased him when he started growing a little bit of stubble, but next time brought his a razor and a bag of Nutter Butters. He shared them with Marquez and James- sometimes he thought all three of them were in some weird threesome-dating triangle, and he asked James if they’d still be friends out of juvie, and he said, “Man, I’d be friends with you if the world exploded, you gotta know that.”

 

When Carl gets out he promises to visit James and Marquez every other week. He does a couple times, and then notices the way their hands brush, and realizes that some things move on without you, even if you were a part of it to begin with.

When he gets out- fifteen and reeling from the world- Ian still isn’t on meds. Sometimes he paces their bedroom at night and Carl can’t sleep, so he sneaks down stairs and crashes on the couch or waits in the kitchen for Fiona to get up. Sometimes he does push ups, and hides in the little alcove under the stairs with a blanket. Sometimes he just sleeps in Lip’s room, he’s never there anymore anyway. Frank is so far in the back of his mind he forgets about him until Fiona mentions seeing him sleeping under the El. Carl is surprised to find himself not caring. Sometimes he sees Mickey around, sometimes smiles at him. Sometimes Mickey smiles back. He heard from Iggy that Mickey went through a rough time with the drink after Ian broke up with him- Carl looks for the tell tale sweating and shaky hands, but can’t see a thing. When he’s in the Alibi, he never once sees Mickey pick up a bottle, and he’s taken maybe two shots in Carl’s presence.

He meets a Romanian boy called Paul Cozma on a job one day. They’re fast friends.

              “I don’t care what you say,” Paul said to him, after a quick job selling coke to some middle aged man with a beer belly and a green tie, “Order of the Phoenix Harry is definitely more attractive than Half Blood Prince Harry,” he lifts his beer bottle to his lips. Carl burns his hand on the stove trying to get the pizza out, “I mean, he’s leading a group of rebelling students called Dumbledore’s Army, how metal is that?”

             “I thought we were judging him on appearance, not personality.” he said, setting the pizza down in front of the table. They were watching _The Shawshank Redemption_ , because it was number 1 on IMDB’s top 250. Neither of them had been paying attention.

            “Personality still comes into it, though,” Paul said, as he sat down, “And thinking about Draco Malfoy and Harry getting it on still gives me shivers, by the way.”

            “It still makes me want to be the ham in that man sandwich, let me tell you,” Carl said, shoving a slice of molten cheese pizza in his mouth, “Mmm, cholesterol.” Paul giggles slightly, and they go quiet. Carl sips at his beer. Paul sidles in closer- Carl ignores it. The last two relationships he’d been in- if you can count James and Marquez as a relationship, which he does- had ended with him being left alone. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. And Paul- however beautiful (chocolate brown skin and big, droopy grey eyes, lavender coloured hair Carl had helped dye in the bathroom upstairs, tall and thin, a bony, friendly face, a seductive, funny personality. The bravest person Carl knows) is his best friend. Ian is lost, Lip is gone, Fiona is more of a mum, Debbie is a washed out version of herself- Paul is his best friend. The closer he sidles, however, Carl starts to wonder why you can’t hold hands with your best friend, and kiss your best friend, and be in love with your best friend. Paul smiles at him, shy, wonderful. Carl is leaning in before he can stop himself. He can hear Fiona opening the door behind them, but she goes up the stairs too quickly for him to care.

 

He has a fight with Ian two weeks after he kisses Paul.

             “You’re such a fuck up, Carl!”

Lip tries his best to step in, but that inch has some power after all, and Ian ends up bleeding on the kitchen floor.

Carl storms out and heads towards the El, doesn’t really know where he’s going. Thinks maybe he’ll see Frank and can take some of the anger out on him- Frank would just laugh in his face, like he always does when someone is mad at him. He stops in front of the Milkovich house without thinking about it- can see Mickey through the window walking around with three year old Yevgeny in his arms, maybe rocking him to sleep.

Carl knocks on the door.

He could use a fucking cigarette.

He doesn’t really want to go back to the Gallagher’s; doesn’t want to face the inevitable shit storm that gonna come with hitting Ian in the face, doesn’t want to see bruises, and black eyes.

He walks away from the Milkovich’s, towards the street, almost gets hit by a car. He finds himself standing in the lot where Bonnie and her siblings had been living- during that winter that seemed like ten years ago. It seemed too long- _You’re such a fuck up, Carl_ , starts playing in his mind and he realizes that maybe Ian is wrong- maybe he’s another Mickey, or another Kev, or another V- he could take that. He’d rather be a Mickey or a Kev or a V than a Frank or a Monica, but maybe everyone’s a little like Frank and Monica. Maybe Carl’s bipolar as well as bisexual, and maybe he’ll go a little crazy like Ian- but he did good with Bonnie. He did good when he payed the electric bill with the money he earned selling crack, and he did good looking after Kev and V’s twins that Sunday they couldn’t take them crying anymore, and he did good making sure Liam got into a good nursery, and maybe that’s enough. Maybe he would go crazy, or something would go wrong again and he’d start drinking like Frank, but he did good. Now he did good.

Carl didn’t go back to the Gallagher’s- he went to Kev and V’s, because sometimes Liam still had nightmares and he knew he’d be able to hear him if he cried. Maybe he’d go back the next morning, or he’d go on to Paul’s, or crash at G-Dog’s a couple days. It didn’t matter- he could find family anywhere. That’s the lesson he learnt in juvie- you don’t need to blood and a marriage certificate to make a family. Gus Pfender wasn’t family, but Kev and V were. Paul was, he thought, at least. Maybe he didn’t need family to be happy, in the first place. Maybe all he needed was himself. He fell asleep wondering if Fiona would give him his ninja stars back- Paul had wanted to see them.

Family always begins with yourself.

**Author's Note:**

> This went a little crazy, sorry. Hope you enjoyed it. First fanfic I've written in like, two years, so go easy on me. Any suggestions/corrections/comments are welcome. The title comes from White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes, covered by Birdie (The version I listened to). I'm punk-and-teacups on tumblr, come talk to me!! Thanks for reading!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


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